


a snake in the grass

by envysparkler



Series: Shifters [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shifters, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Submission, Pack Dynamics, Whump, too bad he'll bite anyone who tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: The pack gets a new addition.(“We do not bite pack.  Do you understand?”)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: Shifters [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995952
Comments: 123
Kudos: 827





	a snake in the grass

**Author's Note:**

> Damian's shifter form is thanks to my whump discord group.

“Damian,” his father said, his gaze drifting over Damian’s face, cataloguing his features, before they settled on his eyes, blue-green meeting twin pools of dark blue. “Damian Wayne.”

A quiet thrill in the corner of his heart.

“I would be pleased to welcome you to the Wayne pack,” his father smiled, and Damian felt the tension in his limbs unlock. It had been a long journey, cold without the sensation of pack bonds around him, terrifying with the fear that his grandfather would find out and come after him before he managed to make it to Gotham.

And the fear that – despite being the trueborn son of the Wayne pack and the rightful heir to the Bat pack – his father would turn him away.

A foolish fear. Damian would have to cast aside such weakness. This pack was much smaller than his last, but every member had joined before him. He needed to prove his worth.

Damian stood tall and bared his neck as Father approached. The butler was standing near the table, watching, and the others were arrayed on the couch, observing with wide eyes – the youngest, Timothy Drake, Robin – a bored expression – the resurrected one, Jason Todd, the Red Hood – and a beaming smile – the eldest, Dick Grayson, Nightwing.

Grayson was rumored to be Father’s second. It was a position he wouldn’t hold for long.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” his father asked.

“I’m fine,” Damian replied, clipped. He was an al Ghul and a Wayne. He could tolerate a claiming bite with dignity.

Todd scoffed, and got an elbow in the ribs.

Father’s hands were gentle as he tipped Damian’s neck a little higher and bent down. Damian prepared himself for the sharp slice of teeth, the slow burning, the thrum of submission he’d gotten used to shaking off –

It jolted, like a brief, sharp pinch, over far quicker and with far less pain than Damian had been expecting. Father withdrew, and Damian stared at him, eyebrows drawing together and – oh. _Oh_.

The pack surged around him – a thread that was _fierce_ and _strength_ and _protector_ , a line that was _loyal_ and _home_ and _hearth_ , a gleaming glitter of _sunshine_ and _warmth_ and _fearlessness_ , a darker, snarled bramble that thrummed with _fury_ and _possessiveness_ and a familiar hint of acid green, and finally, a collection of scattered sparks, weak and faint, humming distantly of _clever_ and _brave_.

It felt like the universe had opened before his eyes and he was drowning under the stars.

Damian only realized he’d lost his footing when he blinked and the ceiling resolved hazily in his vision. Father’s face joined it soon after, a faintly amused smile twitching his lips, and Damian realized he was being held – like a _child_ –

Damian scrambled out of his father’s grip and straightened up, his heart thundering. The pack bonds were fascinating – so _warm_ , almost burning, no stench of decay or destruction or death – but Damian forced himself to build the wall to mute it so that he didn’t end up collapsing again.

“Welcome to the pack, Damian,” his father smiled.

* * *

Damian finished cleaning the weapons and putting them away after the end of the spar, quietly confident. Father had seemed pleased at Damian’s training, and Damian was proud at the recognition. He didn’t know when Father would schedule the challenge fights, but Damian was prepared for them.

He would show Father that he was worthy to lead the Wayne pack after him.

The rest of the Cave was near-silent, everyone having gone up for dinner, with only a soft, stray tapping coming from the array of monitors near the center. Drake – he recognized the collection of sparks.

Damian forced his jaw to unclench. He had no idea why Father had accepted the boy into their pack – even his presence in the pack bonds was weak and faint. Drake didn’t deserve to be Robin, and Damian would make sure of it in the challenge fight.

In the meantime, the boy wasn’t entirely useless. “I want access to the system,” Damian announced, stepping up to Drake’s elbow. The boy didn’t even give him a stray glance.

“Ask Bruce,” Drake muttered absently, flipping through photos of a dark warehouse. Damian squinted, but wasn’t sure what he was doing.

“Give me access to the system,” Damian snarled, injecting command into his tone.

“I said,” Drake said, still not looking at him, “Ask Bruce.”

Damian stared at him. He was the heir to the Demon’s Head, and _no one_ ignored his command. “You will _listen to me_!” Damian hissed, forcing authority into his tone, willing the boy to bend to his word.

Drake turned, an eyebrow raised. “No,” he said flatly, “I don’t know how things were done in your old pack, but you don’t get to command people here. You want to be added to the system, ask Bruce.”

Outright defiance. Sure, Damian knew he was the newest shifter in the pack at the moment, but Father would hold the challenge fights soon, and Damian would prove his place in the pack, and it would certainly be above _Drake_.

But Damian didn’t have to wait for a challenge fight.

He stomped away, careful to keep his footsteps loud and angry, before shifting. Scales slid soundlessly on the Cave floor and wound up the chair without a whisper. Damian slipped up the chair back as Drake muttered something to himself, clicking to another photo.

Drake stilled, and Damian caught sight of his reflection in the monitor. He attacked before Drake even had a chance to shout, fangs sinking into the junction of neck and shoulder as he wrapped around the boy’s throat and constricted, ready to cut off breathing should Drake continue to struggle.

Drake went limp at the first touch of fangs and Damian tightened his grip in surprise. The sparks continued drifting aimlessly, showing no signs of submission, and Damian forced his fangs in _deeper_ – Drake couldn’t trick him, Damian would win this challenge and if he had to deprive Drake of oxygen for a few minutes to ensure that the boy learnt his lesson on trying to outwit someone trained by the _League_ –

“ _Damian_.” Father sounded absolutely furious, his presence a roiling miasma of hurt and rage. “ _Let him go_.”

Damian’s jaws immediately unhooked at the command, unable to deny the pack leader’s authority.

“Dick, stop Jason,” Father snapped as Damian slipped down, sliding off of Drake, off of the chair, and onto the floor before shifting back and looking up with human eyes.

A low, vicious growl echoed through the Cave, raising every hair on Damian’s skin, and he twisted to see a massive black wolf glaring at him with Lazarus green eyes as Grayson wrestled to keep him away.

“Tim,” Father said softly, “Tim, Tim, please look at me. _Tim_.” Damian didn’t want to leave his back unprotected against the wolf, and observed Father out of the corner of his eye as he scooped a limp Drake out of the chair – the boy’s eyes were hollow, and tear tracks glimmered in the light.

Damian had the sudden, awful certainty of how Drake had gotten into the pack.

_He’s lying_ , Damian wanted to scream, _he’s tricking you_. Drake hadn’t submitted, his sparks still drifted aimlessly and emotionlessly, the whole thing was just an _act_. He’d presumably tricked Father the same way, and Damian didn’t know if Father could feel the pack bonds the way Damian could, could see the thin veneer of _fake_ stretched over Drake’s presence.

“We do _not_ bite pack,” Father growled, his presence suddenly suffocating, a pack leader asserting their authority, “ _Do you understand_?”

Damian didn’t understand. Damian – Damian had the feeling that he’d broken a rule, but he didn’t know what it was. He resisted the urge to kneel, to bow his head and bare his neck, and merely nodded.

Todd’s growling grew louder as Father carried Drake away from the chair, heading towards the medbay, the wolf loping after them. Grayson gave Damian a chilling look before he, too, turned away.

Damian curled his hands into fists to hide their trembling. It was a trick. Drake was an imposter, and Damian intended to prove it.

* * *

No matter how hard Damian strained his senses, Drake was nothing more than a handful of scattered sparks. He could tell the bond was there, catch flickers like fireflies, but no true emotion, no real perception of what lurked behind it. Damian could only imagine how difficult it would be for someone who lacked his sensitivity to pack bonds.

It wasn’t even a wall, like the one Damian used to mute his presence, or the one Todd intermittently turned on and off – his was more absolute and encompassing than Damian’s dampening, his presence reduced to a mere flicker, and if Damian couldn’t sense the familiar taste of Lazarus green, he might’ve attributed it to one of Drake’s stray sparks.

Damian didn’t know what Drake was doing, and he didn’t know _how_ he was doing it, or even how he’d managed to fake submission so well that the entire pack was shooting Damian filthy looks, but he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

This was Father’s pack. This was _his_ pack. And any threats to pack had to be eliminated with extreme prejudice.

Damian ignored Todd’s malevolent glare as he edged into the kitchen, careful not to turn his back to the wolf. Drake was unfortunately already there, hovering near the coffeemaker. He shot Damian a side glance as he entered, but didn’t move, his bond weak and faint. The purple-blue band of a bruise around his throat had faded to green-yellow, but there was still a light bandage on his neck, stark white against Drake’s black hair.

Pathetic. A desperate ploy for pity. Damian hadn’t bitten that deep, and his fangs weren’t venomous. Damian was sorely regretting that he hadn’t crushed the other boy’s windpipe.

Todd made a low warning growl as Damian stepped closer to Drake to get the honey out of the cupboard and Damian made a sharp, clicking sound. The wolf was as feral as rumors foretold, and he remembered the howling, rabid black beast that the League had to corral years ago.

And yet Drake had managed to turn that madness into an unhinged protector. Damian kept grasping for Drake’s measure, and kept falling short.

Damian turned his sneer on Todd when the wolf growled again, setting the honey on the counter more forcefully than necessary. Drake flinched at the sound, and Damian’s patience evaporated.

“Stop that,” Damian snapped, “I’m not an imbecile and I’m not going to fall for your tricks.”

Drake had the temerity to raise an eyebrow. “What tricks?” he asked levelly.

“You know exactly what I’m taking about!” Damian snarled, and at Drake’s steady gaze, lost his temper entirely, “ _Stop hiding_.”

Damian didn’t know what he was expecting – Drake had shrugged off his last command like it had been nothing more than empty words – but it wasn’t _this_.

Drake staggered back a step, eyes blown wide.

And the collection of flickering sparks abruptly coalesced into an inferno – Damian was wrong, it wasn’t _clever_ and _brave_ , it was _sharp_ and _calculating_ and _fierce_ , a dragon coiled around its horde.

And Damian realized that he’d turned his back on the wolf at the sound of claws on tile, twisting back in time to take the attack head-on as the massive form slammed him to the ground.

Teeth closed on his throat, sharp and thrumming with restrained force, before they deliberately shook him.

Damian fought the submission on instinct, clawing free of the haze, but remained still as Todd shifted back to human, one hand curling around the back of Damian’s neck and squeezing painfully as Todd snarled, “That’s what it _feels_ like, you spoiled little League prince, submission isn’t a trick or a trap or whatever bullshit Ra’s shoved down your throat, you little demon –”

And then Grayson was there, hauling Todd off of Damian and forcing him to the wall. “Jason, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Damian twisted free of both submission and surrender and straightened to his feet, concealing the waver and keeping his face blank.

“I know how the League operates,” Jason seethed, “And if you think I’m going to let you do that to Tim, you –”

“Jason, _calm down_ ,” Grayson snapped. Drake hadn’t moved, arms curled around himself, eyes wide.

The dragon was curled tightly around itself, wings clasped to its body, and Damian could feel the desperate desire to force itself to become smaller, quieter, an urge to please and conform. And the rising distress as it tried and failed and tried and failed to close the bond and block him out.

Drake’s gaze caught on him, and blue eyes grew even wider. Damian couldn’t suppress the urge to back away, taking a step back, and another, and another – away from Jason’s fiercely struggling form, from Grayson’s slowly narrowing eyes, from Drake’s suddenly incandescent presence as though the distance would do anything to mute the bond.

Damian managed to make it out into the hall, his heart racing as he slammed the bond closed, dampening Drake’s presence to a muted flame.

* * *

Damian had done a terrible job of integrating with the pack so far. He was no longer lowest in the pecking order, but that gain had come with Father’s distrust, the pack’s ire, and Drake’s increasing panic as he kept failing to close the pack bond between both of them.

Ordinarily, he would already be preparing to face his next challenger, but the wolf would not stop growling every time Damian was in the same room, and the League’s training had admittedly been lackluster on taking down dangerous mammals. Father’s heavy gaze made it clear that Damian was expected to keep to _fair_ fights.

That left Grayson. If Damian managed to defeat Father’s second, he would assume the position that was his by right. And salvage his abysmal introduction.

Todd had been trained by the League, and Drake by Lady Shiva, but Grayson’s only teacher was Batman. Damian could take him.

“Damian?” Grayson asked, voice cool but not cold when he turned to see Damian blocking his path. Drake and Todd were out on patrol with Father, but Grayson had been benched with a sprained ankle. Another point in Damian’s favor.

“I challenge you,” Damian said, settling into a ready position.

Grayson _laughed_.

Damian set his jaw and tightened his grip on his sword. Grayson needed to accept the challenge for a fair fight.

“At least I never had to deal with this from Tim,” Grayson chuckled, but shifted back into position, unarmed. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes, a smile still stretching across his face. “Challenge accepted.”

Grayson was underestimating him. It would his undoing.

Five minutes later, Damian was forced to concede that maybe he was the one doing the underestimating.

“You may have been trained by the League of Assassins,” Grayson said, knees digging into Damian’s spine and his fingers tight on the back of Damian’s neck as he forced his face into the mats. “But I’ve been a vigilante longer than you’ve been alive.”

Damian had fought off the urge to surrender immediately, but he was still pinned to the ground, he’d lost his knife, and Grayson wasn’t giving him an inch.

“Take this as your warning, Damian,” Grayson said, soft and quiet, and something shivered down Damian’s spine, “We’re not your old pack. We don’t operate like your old pack. We don’t attack pack. We don’t _hurt_ pack.”

He straightened off of Damian with an easy grace and walked away. Damian suppressed the snarl and leapt after him – if he caught Grayson off guard –

Grayson twisted a second before Damian’s kick would’ve impacted his head, and he caught his foot, forcing him down and following him with a hold that twisted Damian’s arm behind his back.

Grayson waited until Damian stopped struggling, unable to move more than an inch in the hold.

“I can keep doing this, Damian,” Grayson said, light and amused.

“I will defeat you,” Damian snapped, trying to break free and failing again.

“Maybe,” Grayson chuckled, “But not today.” He released Damian and walked away, turning his back without a second thought.

Damian stayed where he was, burning with rage and shame.

* * *

Damian had carefully not inquired if there was a rule about sneaking out into Gotham at night – there were so many rules, and they were so different to the League, and every time he turned around he broke another one of them – which made it easy to slip out after Grayson had disappeared back into the Manor. Father, Todd, and Drake would presumably not be back for another hour, by which point they’d hopefully assume he was sleeping.

Which left Damian enough time to explore Gotham. His challenge to Drake had ended poorly, Todd had made it clear that if Damian ever challenged him, he’d rip out Damian’s throat, and his challenge to Grayson had been a miserable failure. He needed something drastic to gain Father’s favor, and the one thing that was important to Father was Gotham.

Damian would learn these streets thoroughly, and when Father decided to test him, he would be sure to impress him.

The streets were completely unfamiliar, and it took three turns for Damian to realize that someone was following him. Two more turns and a shortcut through an alley to confirm that they were League.

Another alley, sticking to the shadows and crawling through a hole in the fence and – it wasn’t just one League operative.

The next alley was a dead end.

“Damian al Ghul,” the one in front said, “The Demon’s Head wishes for you to come home.”

Mother had gotten him out. She said he’d be safe in Gotham. He’d cut the pack ties. “I am no longer League pack,” Damian replied, “And my name is Damian _Wayne_.”

“The Demon’s Head orders you to come home,” the assassin said, her voice level, “One way or another.”

Damian flicked out his hand, his fingers closing around the hilt of his knife. The assassin did the same. The shadows shifted – Damian counted four, six, eight, ten, twelve.

He had won against greater numbers. But he hadn’t gone out prepared for a fight, and they _had_.

It was a lucky shot that downed him – hand kicked against brick hard enough to fracture his metacarpals, and he didn’t drop his knife, but he missed the shadow behind him, and the elbow to his ribs, and the lead assassin had a grip on his shoulder and then –

Teeth, vicious and sharp, biting into his neck. Damian struggled past the haze – he had years of training in overcoming the submission instinct, one bite wouldn’t be able to down him – but he didn’t manage to jerk away before another set of teeth closed around his throat.

The haze swelled. Sharp, searing slices of pain fading to a spiteful throbbing, again and again and again, and Damian no longer possessed the ability to count.

The knife clattered against the ground.

Another tear. Another. _Submit_ it hissed at him, forcing his head below the waves, and he couldn’t fight it.

Limp. Helpless. Defenseless. Still snapping at his throat, not taking any chances, forcing him under over and over and over again, until he no longer had the power to pull himself back up.

_No_ , some part of him screamed, his dampening wall gone as terror sliced through him. He wasn’t going back to the League. He _wasn’t_.

Wetness pooling in the hollows of his face. He didn’t have a choice.

_Rage_ seared across his senses, thrumming through his pack bonds, and Damian made a soft sound, trying to curl away from the threat.

“Let him go,” an inhuman voice growled, in tune to the fury encompassing his senses. It was accompanied by a growing swell of bitter green and Damian didn’t know why Grandfather was so angry, he didn’t know which test he’d failed, but Grandfather did not tolerate defiance and he made sure that Damian had learnt that lesson.

Damian tipped his head back, until he was staring at a faint orange haze across the smoggy night sky, and retreated into his pack bonds. Rage was spiking across all of them, but one was _absolute-leader-must-obey_ and another was _green-madness-rage_ and he tried to wall himself off from them, fighting against the submission, before the exhaustion pulled him down again, and he drifted.

_Bright-flame-dragon_ was there, unfurling its wings, and Damian shivered, clutching onto that sense to ignore the world around him, the sounds of a fight, the cold ground beneath him, the throbbing agony around his throat.

“Damian?” The growl was lower, gentler, but Damian still flinched, unable to hide his face. A pointed cowl filled his vision, and then withdrew. A red helmet followed, and despite Damian’s best efforts, a startled sob broke past his control.

“I can get him back,” a level voice responded, at odds with the brief thrum of fear reverberating through the bond. “Damian? Can you shift? It’ll be easier if –”

He pushed against the waves holding him down, failed to breach the surface, and surrendered to the order.

It was colder now, night air biting into scales as his temperature dropped, but gloved hands gently picked him up. “No biting,” they admonished gently, before tucking Damian into something that was warm, something that hummed with a pleasant, reverberating _thud-thud-thud_.

Damian slithered further into the heat. In his mind, the dragon curled its wings around him.

**Author's Note:**

> Tim, mentally crying: Why do my brothers keep biting me?  
> Damian: *is curled up on top of Tim, basking in the warmth*


End file.
